Dialogue With Gravity
by Nicholas de Vilance
Summary: What if Derrick really did kill Naomi? What if he got away with it? Travis bolted after hearing Derrick try to frame him. Derrick...his best friend...the person he trusted most of all had betrayed him.
1. False Accusations

Nicholas: What if Naomi really had been murdered? What if Derrick really had used Travis to get away with it? This sort of came to me while I slept. I have no idea where it may or may not be going. If you have any ideas, feel free to tell me! I start a lot of stories, don't I? I haven't forgotten any of my BDS fics, so don't worry for those of you that follow me around this site. For those of you that don't, feel free to read my shit, who knows? You might like it. Well, here's chapter one of Derrick's betrayal of his friends.

Disclaimer: I lack the creativity and talented genius to have come up with Gossip. I'm sorry to disappoint you.

Rating: M...for language, future heavy violence, and over-all-mean-ness

* * *

It had been the coldest, rainiest night of his life, that Travis could remember. He felt ever drop of rain fall straight through his clothes and freeze his skin. Every little drop of moisture was like a bullet to his heart because of what he'd overheard. "He's a sociopath!" Derrick's words echoed through his mind and he shuddered at the memory. "How sick and demented does a guy have to be…?" How could Derrick say something like that? Derrick…his best friend, the person Travis trusted more than anyone—except for Jones maybe. Travis would have been willing to go down with Derrick, but not for him. This was too much! _Sick and demented…_

Travis looked up from the street he'd been staring at and let his eyes be bombarded by the onslaught of weather. "Is that what I am, you fucker!" he shouted at no one. All that shit Derrick had said about him being original and on the road to greatness was bullshit, and Travis had been the idiot not to see it. "Well, my eyes are open now," he added quietly to himself.

He didn't rape Naomi. He didn't even think she was that pretty, but that wasn't a reason to kill her. Travis hated the idea of untimely death. It sent goose pimples over his skin. She had killed herself! Hadn't she? That was what the gossip was the day he had found out. "Fuck gossip," Travis muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets and continuing to walk. He didn't know where he was going, but it was away—_far_ away. He needed to be somewhere where he was sure he wouldn't have to see, think about or even hear about Derrick Webb again.

Gossip had started it all. Just a little white lie that turned into a huge problem. Was Travis just some fucking pawn? That entire project must have been some sick joke to get Travis on a creative high so that he wouldn't notice. It had been Jones' idea…she wouldn't play a joke like that one him. She wasn't cruel, not like Derrick.

Where could he go? Would the police actually believe Derrick? What if he was a suspect now? He couldn't go to his parents, they probably wouldn't even care. Travis doubted his aunt was accessible, being that she lived in Canada. Anyway, that would make him look like he had something to hide. He was innocent! He didn't do anything wrong!

"Travis!" His mind was too closed to register the distant sound of voice that approached him. He kept walking. "Travis, wait!" Was it Jones? He hoped not. She probably believed it too, all that shit Derrick had been spewing out at the Detective. "Travis, slow down!"

With that, he took off at a run. No! He didn't want to deal with it anymore! Not that he was going suicidal, he just wanted to find some corner in the world and hide away. He felt stupid, exposed and abused. How could Derrick be so heartless? Travis would have been there for him, done anything for him, and all that made Travis was an expendable scapegoat. So he ran, away from Jones, away from life, away from anything that would remind him of how positively naïve he was.

"God damn it, Travis! Get back here, now! I have to talk to you!"

Travis hated that tone Jones got when she was mad. It reminded him of his mother, what he remembered of his real mother. As much as Travis wanted to keep running, he couldn't. That tone just made his legs stop moving. He'd only got a short distance, but the sidewalk abruptly ended a few feet from where he stopped. He was in some deserted back alley, completely unaware of how he'd gotten there. He turned on Jones, a bit of anger rising with the bile in his throat. "What?" he snapped.

Jones stepped back unconsciously, slightly intimidated by this new side of Travis that was not the timid artist she once knew. "I'm sorry, Travis," she stated quietly, barely audible over the pouring rain. "I know I'm not Derrick, but can I apologize for him? What he said, I know he didn't really mean it. Look, Travis, I—"

"Shut up!" Travis was practically screaming, the turmoil in his mind just too much to contain. "What the fuck, Jones? You come out here to play messenger? Well fuck you! And fuck Derrick, too! You guys must think I'm just the easiest little toy, right? 'Well, just fuck Travis over, he'll forgive you in the morning.' You know what? I fucking _hate_ you guys!" He turned away from her, intending to walk in some other direction.

"Travis! I'm not telling you what Derrick told me to tell you! For all I care, Derrick can fuck himself!" She grabbed his arm when he didn't respond and spun him around easily. He wasn't going to fight back. "I hate that he said those things about you, and I swear, I had nothing to do with that. I love your art! I do! It makes me proud to even know you." Jones could tell he wasn't having it, but she wasn't going to give up that easy. "Open your ears, Travis! Listen to me!" He rolled his eyes and she couldn't stop herself from smacking him.

With wide eyes, Travis reached up slowly to touch his stinging face. The rain just muted and the whole world was suddenly put on pause. The cold just made his skin burn more where her hand had been. Suddenly, he wasn't so pissed off anymore. He felt bad. He'd yelled at Jones. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, back to the old Travis.

Jones cringed and immediately wished she'd controlled herself. She had to snap him back to his senses, but maybe that wasn't the best way. With a steady hand, Jones reached up and gently turned Travis' face toward her, making him look her in the eyes. "Are you calm?" she asked seriously.

"I don't hate you, Jones. I just…" He didn't know what he wanted to say. Everything was so confusing. A vortex of feelings, an uproar of passions, all of different types, was slamming about his brain. There was an epic battle of what emotion should stand out most. "I trusted him…"

"I know, Travis." Jones put a reassuring hand on his shoulder and used her other hand to keep the rain out of her eyes. "Look, don't run, okay? I know you didn't do anything, and if the police don't believe that, then fuck them. But please, let's just go…I don't know, get a cup of coffee, or something. I need something to warm me up, and you do too. So let's just go, okay?"

The world started up again. The rain pounded in his ears again and he felt the cold again. He felt Jones' hand on his cheek, and he could see her pleading eyes. Why couldn't he just run away? What difference did it make? "Okay," he said quietly. He loved her smile as she grabbed his hand and began to lead him back the way he'd come. Maybe that was the only reason he followed her. He loved to see her smile.

When they'd gone to the café to get coffee, Travis was on the verge of crying. He was still thinking about how much Derrick had betrayed him. How had been so stupid? He kept asking himself that as Jones got him a seaming cup and placed it right under his nose. He didn't want to touch it. "Do they think I killed her?"

The pause was all Travis needed as an answer. For a few moments, Jones just stirred her coffee, pretending to be staring intently at the swirls of cream. She finally sighed and spoke up when she heard Travis put his head in his arms on the table in front of him. "Derrick is pretty damn convincing. He used your project as an accusation that you were stalking Naomi, and I think…I'm pretty sure the detective thinks you're a suspect. They think you raped her, too. Apparently it wasn't a suicide and some one did actually rape her before they killed her."

"It was Derrick," Travis stated, his voice muffled by his coat. It had to have been Derrick. Who else would kill a girl like that? Just out of the blue. 'A psycho would,' Travis thought scornfully.

"You don't know that. I don't think even Derrick is capable of murder."

"Then why is he trying so hard to blame it on me?" Travis' anger was rising again. He kept his voice level to avoid stares from the people surrounding him. "I ought to get a gun and go back there and shoot his ass." He raised his head and looked out the window miserably.

"Travis, don't talk like that. You know if you did that then they really would arrest you and you would go to prison and I don't want that." She saw the tears in his eyes, saw the pain on his face, started to hate Derrick as much as Travis did now. "Whatever the cops do, we'll get through this, okay? You and me. I'll look out for you, so fuck Derrick and fuck his ego! Be better than he is and face the fucking music!"

As soon as she said that, the door to the café opened and the familiar figure of the detective approached them swiftly. Travis just stared for a long time, waiting for the man to say something. Jones sipped her coffee, trying to believe that he wasn't there, standing by their table. Finally he spoke, so they couldn't just ignore him anymore. "Travis McMinn?" he asked flatly, "That's you, right?"

Jones didn't let Travis answer. He'd probably just end up screwing himself over if he uttered one syllable in his current state. "Can we help you, Detective?"

"Yes, actually." He pointed out the window and made some sort of hand signal to some one that neither Travis nor Jones could see through the pouring rain. "I have a question for Mr. McMinn." From his pocket he drew a folded piece of paper. Once he had it nicely flattened out, he showed it to Travis. It was the picture of Naomi at her graduation. "Have you seen this picture before?" Travis nodded indifferently. "Where?"

Glancing at Jones, he knew he was on his own with this. He hated being in the lamp light in the interrogation room. "Uh, Derrick Webb gave it to me," he replied timidly, afraid that his answer could be used against him. "He said he got it from Naomi's dorm room."

"One more question: Why would he give it to you?"

Travis knew exactly where this was going. Damn Derrick and his lying mouth! He didn't want to answer, but he that knew not answering would look suspicious. He couldn't leave too long of a pause before his reply either, because that wouldn't look too good either. His head hurt. "He gave it to me for my…wall. We were doing a project on gossip and rumors. It was based on Naomi." That wasn't so bad. It was the truth, and it wasn't incriminating in the least.

"Was the mural on your wall completely your idea?"

"Yes."

The bell on the café door rang as two police officers entered. Travis' heart dropped like a stone in the water. He shot a worried look at Jones, who tried to put on a reassuring smile, but failed miserably. "Are you sure your obsession with Naomi Preston didn't pass farther than the necessities of your 'project'?"

"Obsession?" Jones began incredulously, "Travis doesn't have an obsession with Naomi Preston! He's just an artist, so leave him alone."

"I can't do that," the detective stated unconcernedly. He motioned the police officers forward and took a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket. "Travis McMinn, you're under arrest for the rape and murder of Naomi Preston."

No further warning needed. Travis face lost all color from his already pale complexion as his eyes fell upon the shackles. The second the detective grabbed his arm, he stood and pushed him away. He tried to run…big mistake. "Let me go!" The officers were on him in a heartbeat, holding his thrashing body still. "I didn't do anything!" The taller of the cops bent Travis over the table, knocking over his untouched cup of coffee. "Jones!"

People were staring now. Everyone was watching as the metal cuffs were bound with a definitive click around Travis' wrists. Everyone heard his shouts of protest. "You have the right to remain silent," but Travis wasn't silent. Jones had long since stood and tried to help him, but there wasn't much she could do. "Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law." Like Travis cared! He tried desperately to get away as the two officers pulled him up and proceeded to drag his kicking and screaming form from the café.

"Jones!" he shouted, tried to throw them off of him, but they wouldn't let go. "You have the right to an attorney, if you cannot afford an attorney one will be appointed to you." Travis couldn't afford an attorney, and he didn't want one. He wanted to go home!

Jones was following. "Please let him go! He didn't do it! I swear to God!" She grabbed the detective by the arm and stopped him in his tracks. "You can't do this! Where's your warrant?"

"Ever heard of obstruction of justice?" Jones stopped in her tracks and glared viciously at the detective. "Watch where you step, Lady, or you'll be joining him." And that was it. Jones didn't want Travis to go to jail, but some one had to stay out and give Derrick a swift kick in the ass.

"Jones!" Travis shouted, his voice cracking with the terror in his heart. "I don't want to go! Tell them I didn't do it!" The officers at his sides just held him still, as they pulled him out into the rain and across the street. "Tell them!"

Jones said nothing and just watched as the officers forced her best friend into the back of a cop car. She couldn't believe it. Derrick had done it. He'd gotten his way and he'd gotten away with it. The look on Travis' face was one of complete horror, like a child facing some yet-to-be-known punishment that he dreaded more that anything. The car door slammed and Jones let her tears fall. "I'm sorry," she muttered as the car drove away.


	2. People's True Opinions

**Prosecution**

"I call Miss Rebecca Tracy to the stand."

Travis knew this was going to be a long day. From the moment he'd woken up in a holding cell and had to remind himself that he'd been framed and arrested, he knew this was going to be the most tiring day of his life. And so he sat, in handcuffs at the defense's desk in the courtroom. His lawyer sat next to him, but Travis had hardly gotten a chance to talk with the man, so this case might actually turn to shit without warning. He was tired. He'd had nightmares the night before.

"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

"I do."

"You may be seated."

Rebecca Tracy. Oh, yeah, Travis remembered that he used to have a crush on her for a while. He hoped to God she that didn't have anything too harsh to say about him. Once he'd looked at her, he returned his gaze to the spot on the desk he'd been staring at since the trial started.

"Miss Tracy, do you know the defendant?"

"Uh…yes, I know who he is. I have a class with him. I don't know him _that_ well, though. I don't really talk to him."

"Outside of class, could you say that you have noticed him?"

"Well, I guess. He used to flirt with me a lot. I usually told him to get lost. I never really liked him too much."

"Can you elaborate?"

"He's weird…I mean he's kind of creepy. In class, he's always hunched over his notebook writing or drawing or something, I'm not sure. He's kind of a recluse. Like, if you were to guess what kid would pull the next columbine, he would've been the top of the list."

Ouch, that hurt. Is that really what people thought of him? Travis felt his lawyer nudge his elbow, but he didn't want to respond. The guy was nice, sure, but anything that reminded Travis of his current situation was unwelcome in his mind right then. He wanted to think of other things. He wanted to be somewhere else. He hated the numerous pairs of eyes that were staring at him and he hated the reason he was there. Derrick Webb…Fuck, Derrick, man. Fuck him.

"Now, why do you say that?"

"…I don't know. It's just…he's so distant. And one time, I saw him in a coffee shop and I don't know why I, but I looked over his shoulder at what he was doing and there was a picture of a gun."

"No further questions, Your Honor."

**Defense**

"Rebecca, how well would you say you know Mr. McMinn?"

"Travis? Oh, not really well actually. I don't talk to him unless he comes up to me."  
"And you tell him to…'get lost,' was it?"

"Yeah that's right."

No it isn't. She'd never once said "get lost." She'd said everything else—nice or not—that meant "get lost," but those exact words never left her mouth until now. Travis began to wonder why he cared so much now that it really didn't matter. He put his hands up on the table and, pretending they weren't handcuffed, he started to trace pictures with his fingers.

"Now, when you denied his advances, how did he usually take it?"

"Um…he'd just shrug and walk away. Sometimes he'd smile like he was sorry or something, but he'd just walk away and leave me alone the rest of the night."

"He's never reacted violently? If he'd been drinking, perhaps?"

"Well, every time he flirted with me he'd probably been drinking, but he was never violent."

"Funny that the kid 'who would pull the next columbine' isn't violent, don't you think?"

"Well I…I mean, I didn't…"

"Did he ever get angry that you constantly turned him down?"

"No, he just went back to his two friends."

"Being that he gets neither violent nor angry, could you safely say that your original judgement of Mr. McMinn is inaccurate?"

"I…I guess so…Now that I think about it, I think you're right. All in all, Travis had been a relatively gentle guy, from what I've experienced."

Something told Travis that this was going to be the longest day of his life. He didn't mind being called gentle—even he'd never thought himself that way—he minded that Rebecca had just fucked up to make this day even longer. She had just made herself an unreliable witness. She'd said something to the prosecution and a completely other thing to the defense.

"No further questions, Your Honor."

* * *

**Prosecution**

"I call Miss Cathy Jones."

Now that was surprising! It was almost the end of the day and Travis was just short of utterly miserable. His lawyer had tried to reassure him, but the way things were going, this court was damned certain he was guilty. All the witnesses were either close to Naomi or people he'd freaked out one way or another. He was about to give up hope, but when he heard Jones' name called, he actually held his head up and turned around to see her walk to the stand. God, she looked like an angel.

"Raise your right hand. Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help you God?"

"I do."

"You may be seated."

She was wearing a long black skirt and a nice, long-sleeved black blouse. Together with the black stockings and black pumps, she looked more fit for a funeral than a trial, but Travis still thought she was the most beautiful death-sentence he'd seen yet. She pushed her glasses up onto the bridge of her nose and glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. The tiniest hint of a smile she gave him sent him through loops. Thank God for tiny miracles. Thank God for Cathy Jones.

"What is your relationship with the defendant?"

"Travis is like a brother to me. I've known him since high school and we've been roommates since we started college, staying in an apartment owned by Derrick Webb."

"You're very close?"

"I know his favorite pair of socks."

_Which now have a hole in one of them,_ Travis thought with a slight. He looked to his right and saw his lawyer looking at him. He felt bad for not remembering the man's name. Mr. Adams…Andrews…Springer? He couldn't tell, but it would have been a bit inappropriate to lean over and ask. Point was, this Mr. Whatever-his-name-was was trying his damned best to win, and Travis appreciated it almost as much as he appreciated merely having Jones as a friend.

"Would you say that this closeness could affect some of your responses today?"

"In normal conversation, yes it would. Up here, faced with imprisonment of my friend, I won't hide or twist anything on his behalf. I have nothing to lie about."

"That's good to know. Can you verify that you know exactly where the defendant was on the night of Naomi Preston's murder?"

"No. I can't say that I am completely sure of where he was, but he told me that he went to the library that night, and I believe him. As long as I've known him, Travis hasn't been able to spend less than an hour in a library before he decides to get at least one book and he came back with about five new library books."

"Did he return that night or the next morning?"

"He came back around one, because he knows the librarian and she sometimes stays late for him. He didn't leave again until approximately seven. I wouldn't say for sure because I didn't clock him, but that seems about right."

As she sat up there, her legs crossed casually and her hands folded and placed in her lap, she was as cool as ice. Nothing was rehearsed about her statements—mostly because Travis knew it was all true—and listening put him more and more at ease. He actually started to wonder if his books got back on time.

"What books did he check out?"

"A few novels—one was The Count of Monte Cristo and another Moby Dick—and the others were art books."

"Is this a usual choice for him?"

"Yes."

"Does he read a lot?"

"Yeah."

"More than he socializes with people?"

"…Well, I guess you could say that Travis has his nose in a book more than out, and he's not very social at all around people he doesn't know. It took me a while to even get him to try and talk to girls without blushing every five seconds. I don't see what that has to do with anything, though."

"I take it he doesn't blush when he talks to you."

"No, he doesn't, but I've known him for a few years now."

"What about when you first met him, in high school?"

Travis was barely aware of the attorney beside him, standing and stating "Objection!" because the question didn't have relevance. He was remembering the first time he'd seen Jones. It had been Sophomore year, and he'd transferred in half way through the year. Of course he was shy because he was in a new school in a new city because his parents had moved so he kept to himself. Once, in English, Cathy had caught him staring at her and she just smiled and asked him: "Want to take a picture?" The gently kind way she'd said it made him instantly attracted to her and the pieces sort of fell into place as his slight stalking her changed to eating lunch wit her.

"Miss Tracy described Mr. McMinn as gentle. Would you say that's about accurate?"

"Well…I wouldn't say _gentle_, but he's not a very dangerous person at all. If you provoke him long enough he might snap at you or try to hit you, but then he'll pout and just walk away. The closest thing to a fight he's ever been in was when he got pounded on by a senior football player because he'd accidentally spilled his milk and the guy's girlfriend. Travis didn't really fight back at all."

"So he's weak?"

"Not at all. He's just not physically strong. He's protective and loyal to his friends, and he's the most kind-hearted guy in the entire university, and if you don't see that as strength, I feel sorry for you."

"…No further questions."

**Defense**

"Miss Jones, you mentioned a Derrick Webb. What is your relationship with him?"

"He owns the apartment all three of us lived in. I used to consider him a very good friend. In fact, a bit more than a friend…that was until he'd accused Travis of killing Naomi."

"Could you tell the court what this Derrick is like? His personality, for instance?"

"He's what you'd call a modern Casanova. There isn't a girl on campus I know of that hasn't fallen for his charm, and he has an ego because of that to fit everyone of them."

"Just for clarification, you are one of those girls, are you not?"

"…I am."

"Well, you said that Mr. Webb accused Travis. This was not something you would have expected from him?"

"No…Not in the least. At first I didn't even want to believe that he'd said it, but I heard it, so…"

"Do you think that Mr. McMinn is capable of raping and killing a fellow student?"

That was the question, wasn't it? The deciding blow that would make or break this delicate line between freedom and false accusations. How Jones answered was of the utmost importance, and Travis found himself more distracted by Jones herself. She'd said such nice things about him that he no longer cared about the trial. If he had to go to prison, it seemed like that was an equal price just to hear her speak highly of him.

"No. I know for a fact that the idea of untimely death frightens Travis. He told me that when he was telling me about how his mother died."

"And how did his mother die?"

"…She was…attacked on her way home from a grocery store. Travis told me that he was with her and that he was forced to watch as two men beat her to death. The way he said it…I still remember it clearly because it was such a tragic story. And I'm judging his capability of purposely _harming_ another person on that. He wouldn't."

Travis was crying before he realized it. Thoughts of his mother mixed with the fear of the situation and how very much he love Jones right then made him lose it. He stared at her with admiration and she finally just looked straight at him and smiled. He felt the tears fall and let them. He didn't want to hide from her.

"No further questions."

* * *

Nicholas: Um...this took me a while to write. I think I screwed it up because I've never been to a trial before and stuff like that. This is based off of the many movies and episodes of L&O: SVU I've watched in the past and present. I'm not sure who goes first in the questions and shit, but I hope you like it and it's not too confusing. I wanted to make it purely Q&A and Travis' commentary. REVIEWS WOULD BE LOVELY! 


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